


The Pickle

by sophinisba



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003), Lord of the Rings - Tolkien
Genre: 1000-5000 Words, Community: waymeet, Family, Food, Gen, Hobbits, Holiday, Kid Fic, Post-Canon, Post-Quest, shire - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-22
Updated: 2006-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-06 13:54:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophinisba/pseuds/sophinisba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Gamgees celebrate Yule.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pickle

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "Get Cracking!" challenge at the Waymeet LJ community, December, 2006. Inspired by the "Christmas Pickle" ornament tradition which some families claim is German but which more likely began in the United States after the Civil War. More info [here](http://german.about.com/library/blgermyth11.htm). Thanks to Dana for help and encouragement.

"Go on," said Rose Gamgee, "see if you can find something to eat, hidden among all those branches."

Robin eyed the dense boughs and thick pine needles warily. "Is there sweets?" he inquired.

"_Are_ there sweets," his big sister Primrose corrected.

"Are there sweets, Mother?"

"Hmmm, I should think there must be some, by the end of the day, but that's not what you're looking for right now."

"What am I looking for?"

"The _pickle_, of course," said Ruby, who was only two years older than Robin and not as good at grammar as Prim, so she needed to take advantage of what opportunities she had to show she was smarter than Robin and little Tommy.

Robin watched the clouds of steam in front of everyone's mouths when they breathed, and more when they spoke, and he looked longingly at his mother, wishing she would wrap him up and make him warm. He was also looking at the green door behind her and wishing they might all just go inside rather than go through with this Tradition, even if Primrose and everyone else said it was Important.

"I don't like pickles," said Robin.

But when he realized that two of his brothers and three of his sisters were already searching, he couldn't stand to be left out and he started making his way in toward the trunk of the tree.

Robin Gamgee, at age eight, was a curious young hobbit but somewhat less keen on adventure than most of his siblings. He preferred a good talk with his mother or his da as a way of finding out about things rather than, say, charging through the mud and catching frogs as Ruby liked to do, or go talking to strangers on the road like his brother Bilbo. And Robin would rather be inside by the fire than out here in the cold. But once he'd started in he remembered that the pine needles were not very sharp, and since he knew (his parents had told him) that he was a clever boy, and also that he had good eyes, he thought he _deserved_ more than anyone else to find the pickle. And maybe once he did someone could explain why he would want such a thing.

"I found it!" shouted Tommy. "Mama, I found it!" And as he crawled out from under the branches Robin frowned, thinking the baby had an unfair advantage, being so small, and it didn't occur to him that the older ones might think the same thing of him. Robin started to make his way out as well, figuring the game was up, but he noticed that Ruby was frozen still, peering around, listening, so he stopped to listen as well.

"Oh, that's lovely," said their mother. "You've found a big pinecone." Ruby smirked, and started searching again. "Here, Tommy, come sit on my lap and we'll see what the others can come up with."

It hadn't snowed, and Robin couldn't actually remember snow, though he'd had it described to him often enough and Primrose claimed he'd played in it and liked it when he was three. But there is frost on the ground and in the tree, and although Robin shivered a little, he thought it looked lovely. So winter had decorated the pine tree, and so had the Gamgees, hanging up candles and candies and little figures that Frodo and Elanor and Da carved out of wood, and that Primrose and Goldilocks and Robin and Rosie tied together out of straw and string. And all of those things were very nice to look at, though again, Robin would rather have kept them inside where they could be admired more comfortably.

In any case, it surprised him, amid the glitter of the frost and all those ornaments, to feel so much elation upon spotting the wrinkled, slimy little green thing hanging from a string on a little branch five inches in front of his face. But that was how he felt, so happy that he shivered again, and this time it felt good. Not wanting to sound the alarm like Tommy or, worse, draw everyone else's attention and have someone faster snatch it away from them, he moved to take it slowly and casually, lifting up the string rather than the pickle itself and untangling it from the needles. Then he went to his mother where she was sitting on the step outside the front door. And Rosie just as quietly, as if sharing a secret with her son, smiled her big smile and let her eyes light up the way they did, and she kissed him on the cheek and hugged him warm and tight.

"Robin found it!" shouted Tommy, who was still sitting on her lap.

Then he jumped off as the others jumped out from the tree, and they all told Robin congratulations (even Ruby was only sulking a little) and he grinned and felt proud, and then remembered, "But I don't like pickles, Mother."

"Well, don't worry, we won't make you eat it all by yourself. Let's go inside now, I've had enough of this chill."

Inside, Mother asked who wanted some of the pickle, and Merry and Goldy and Ham in the parlor, and Elanor and Pippin in the dining room, and Frodo and Rosie-lass and Da in the kitchen, and Daisy and Prim and Bilbo and Ruby and Tommy trailing after her all said yes, and then so did Robin, rather than be left out of something that everyone else seemed to think was so important.

The smial smelled wonderful, and the kitchen best of all, for they were preparing tonight's feast, and Robin knew that everyone would have their fill of ham and green beans and taters, and it would be an effort to make room for the apple pie after all that, but Robin was sure he could manage.

It was strange, then, to watch his mother washing off that shriveled up little pickle and carefully slicing it into fifteen tiny pieces. Robin noticed that everyone was quite serious as they took their little slivers and ate them, so he didn't make the ugly face he wanted to but chewed and swallowed and went with Mother and Primrose and Tommy into the parlor, and did not ask about sweets. They sat down by the fire and Robin thought it was very nice to be inside.

"You children know the story," Mother said, "of when your da and the others went away on their journey..."

"Of course," said Robin, sitting up straight and glancing at Primrose – she wouldn't be correcting him on this, because he understood it was important.

"Well, that autumn," she continued, "when they were gone, there wasn't a lot of food to be had, and what there was we hobbits had to hide so it wouldn't be taken away."

Robin nodded solemnly. "But Mother," he said, still tasting the salt and bitterness on his tongue, "why would anyone want to take away a pickle? They don't even taste good!"

"Well, that's a question of every hobbit's taste. Now, your sister Goldilocks loves pickles, and I like them if they're seasoned right, with dillflower and garlic and just a leaf or two from the cherry tree..."

"But cherries doesn't go with pickles," said Robin.

"_Don't_ go," said Primrose.

"Don't go," Robin repeated.

"The leaves do though," said Rosie, smiling to herself, and then she grew serious again. "But that year we didn't have time to season things just the way we wanted to. We had to save what we could and hide it away quickly, and some of it we buried under the ground, and a few hobbits even hid their things up in the branches of the trees that hadn't been cut down."

"Did you have to eat a whole lot of pickles?" Robin asked, distressed.

"Yes," said Rosie. "And not just cucumbers either. We ate pickled cabbage, pickled peppers, pickled onions and cauliflower..."

Robin stuck out his tongue. "I don't like onions," he said.

"I know, dear. And I don't like pickled cabbage either. But that was how it was that year. We ate what we had. That was a good winter because we were happy to have Frodo and Da home with us and have Sharkey and the Men finally out, but it was a hard winter too. We ate a lot of taters, onions, and pickles, and not a lot else."

"Winter is always hard," said Robin. "I don't like winter."

"Well, I like it well enough now. I like having a feast at Yule, and I like sharing it with my family. And I like finding and sharing the pickle as well, and remembering how far we've come."

"That was my idea," Da said from the doorway. Robin hadn't realized he was here and listening. "I was so impressed at the way the folks who stayed at home held on to what they could, I said they'd hide a pickle in a tree if they had to, to keep those thieving ruffians from finding it."

"We never did actually hide pickles in trees," Rose clarified for her children.

"But we do now," said Sam. "And having to search for it makes it taste that much better."

Robin could not quite agree with that, but if it made his parents happy he was glad to have done the searching and the finding.

He tried to imagine how happy they must have been – his parents but also _their_ parents, and Uncle Frodo and the others as well, that first Yule after the Travellers returned. And he wondered quietly – not for the first time – just why Uncle Frodo had gone away after that, before Robin and his brothers and sisters had had the chance to meet him. (And Mother and Da and Uncle Merry and Uncle Pippin said the hobbits who had the chance to know Frodo Baggins were very lucky hobbits, and that was all very nice for them, but why should the younger ones like Robin be unlucky?)

There would have been a lot of searching and a lot of wandering out in the cold, for the ones who went away but also for the ones who stayed. And after that it must have been very good indeed to come inside Grandda and Grandma Cotton's home and sit by the fire and have a meal, even if it was a rather poor meal. But perhaps Frodo hadn't liked pickles or the other meager food that was left in the Shire when he came back. Perhaps it wasn't quite enough for him.

He ought to have waited for a few more years, Robin thought, to see how much better it could be.

Because it was very good here, after all, even in winter. It was good to sit inside by the fire, and perhaps that wouldn't have been quite as enjoyable if he hadn't been out in the cold earlier. And it was good sitting here with all the hobbits he loved best, but he hoped he never had to spend too long away from them. He could appreciate them just as well if they all stayed here together.


End file.
